


“You’re a Sith now.”

by ImperialParagons



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/F, Sith Academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16026962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialParagons/pseuds/ImperialParagons
Summary: A warrior/inquistor retelling of the prologue with a massive dash of head canons about Korriban and life at the Sith Academy.





	1. "Kindness is a mark of weakness among the Sith.”

“You must have a death wish,” the orbital station shuttle pilot glared at Char’yal as he spoke, yellow eyes lingering on the practice swords on her back. “Going to Korriban mid-year armed only with toy swords, you’ll be dead within a week. Just because some minor Sith Lord visited your planet, filled your head with delusions of grandeur, and told you that you were the most promising acolyte they’ve seen means nothing at the academy.”

Not that giving a speech stopped the Zabrak from prepping the shuttle for launch, it seemed more to assuage his own conscious than actually stop her from leaving. Char’yal said nothing, simply let him ramble to himself, watching the efficiency with which he worked. The orbital station was quiet, still roughly tied to the schedule of the Sith Academy where it was just past two in the morning. In another few hours there would be dozens of ships coming and going, traffic halted and diverted for every Sith Lord who thought they could get away with threatening traffic control.

But for the moment it was just the two of them and a dozen or so droids idling in the background. An astromech whirred and beeped at the Zabrak who seemed to understand it and patted it affectionately as it scooted up the ramp and into the shuttle. The language of droids had always been beyond her, an incomprehensible series of beeps and clicks; but more than that a language of the cantinas and spaceports, places she had spent a life time avoiding.

“Thank you for the warning. I appreciate it.” The pilot dropped his spanner and stared at her for, with his mouth slightly agape at her statement. Char’yal didn’t quite smile at him, expression as serious as it always was, but there was something almost warm about her golden eyes. “But I’m not here mid-year by accident; I’ve been training my whole life for this.”

“So have half the candidates here,” he picked up his spanner and finished final checks on the ship in silence. “But I hope you survive the trials. Nobody headed to Korriban has ever thanked me before. You’d do well to remember that kindness is a mark of weakness among the Sith.”

Char’yal said nothing in reply, instead she followed him into the small craft and took a seat in the back before wordlessly clipping her safety belts as the astromech triangulated the best approach the planet. The Zabrak hummed to himself as they broke through the atmosphere, occasionally checking a screen, and otherwise making himself look busy. It was only on approach when a terse voice came through the comm line that explained with the transport routes weren’t entirely automated. “Transport 39028 bank left immediately. Early morning speeder drills are being conducted ahead of schedule.”

The ship pulled a hard left only just avoiding being clipped by a pack of a dozen robed figures with practice swords on sleek black speeder bikes headed towards the ruins. “Continue approach unless otherwise notified.” The voice cut out and Char’yal was almost positive that the Zabrak muttered something rude under his breath – at the voice or the recklessness of the apprentices she wasn’t sure.

The rest of the approach was uneventful, and an armored figure paced the platform as they landed. He immediately walked over to them and extended a hand in greeting towards her. “Mistress Char’yal,” I’m overseer Tremel, I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. But, formal introductions can wait. We don’t have a moment to waste in getting you caught up with the others. There’s a great many Dark Lords who would rather see you dead then believe in the Prophesy of your rise to greatness.”

A clatter of sound attracted Tremel’s attention to the Zabrak, who had clumsily taken a step back into some crates while trying to listen in on the conversation. Tremel’s eyes narrowed but he simply swept off back towards The Academy, deciding that it wasn’t worth his time to bother with a noisy spacer. Char’yal let Tremel take a few steps away before turning her golden eyed gaze towards the pilot again, “Thank you,” looking at him with a piercing gaze she added after a second, “When the chance comes to transfer to the Czerka freight division, don’t take it.”

With no explanation she followed after Tremel, catching up before he could disapprove of her talking to riffraff and non-Sith, a silence stretching between them as Tremel fought down the urge to explain their plans where there could be prying eyes and ears. Silences like this were familiar to Char’yal and no longer bothered her. Only when they made their way through a maze of passages and hallways, all lined with rather hideous looking paintings of ancient Sith Lords, and through a door locked with a biometric scanner did Overseer Tremel start talking.


	2. On Korriban there was no hope of escape.

“First, you’ll be headed to the tomb of Ajunta Pall where you’ll find a proper blade for an apprentice. You’ll need to be able to defend yourself against the other acolytes before we can even begin to plan how to make sure you’re noticed by a Dark Lord and promoted out of the academy as soon as possible.” Tremel folded his hands across the desk and looked at Char’yal appraisingly. “This is also my test for you. If you can’t manage something this simple on your own, you’ll never survive long among Sith political maneuvering.”

Char’yal said nothing and waited for him to either continue giving her instructions or dismiss her. Minutes ticked by as he stared at her, or rather, through her – mind clearly whirring and plotting, debating if everything he’d been told about her could possibly be true. “We’ll talk more when you return,” there was a nervous edge to Tremel’s voice, and his eyes flicked to the soundproofed door to the hallway, still paranoid about being overheard.

She turned to go before Tremel spoke up again, “You’ll need a speeder to get there. The path to the ruins is preprogrammed into the red ones.” Char’yal nodded once in acknowledgement before passing through the biometric scanner and back into the maze like hallways of the academy. It was just past four in the morning now, and the first sounds of movement echoed from various rooms off the main hallways. The fewer people she encountered before gaining a real weapon the better, the hasty early morning transport the best hedge against a very untimely death.

Dozens of speeders were all parked in a jumble outside the main entrance to the academy, some obviously rigged to explode on any acolyte that tried to activate them. A crude trap, but the type that was to be expected at the academy. Finding a red speeder that wasn’t rigged to explode, or broken beyond use, took just long enough for the sun to start to peak over the horizon, the first rays of dawn casting long pale shadows across the sands.

With a choking overworked engine rev, Char’yal kicked the bike into gear, letting the autopilot direct her route to the tombs. Once she was away from the academy the rhythm of work life changed, dawn marking the shift change for day and night slave rotations. Armed droid overseers kept watch as exhausted slaves were replaced by another group in chains. What they were doing wasn’t entirely clear, perhaps building a new tomb for a dark council member, perhaps simply being punished with hard labor.

Char’yal noticed them not as a matter of pity, but because of the waves of emotion they all gave off. On Korriban there was no hope of escape. There was no hope for anything other than a quick death. Of all the places to be sent as a slave, only Quesh or the gas fields of Hutta were worse. On other worlds perhaps there was the chance to impress a wealthy trader and end up with better conditions, on Korriban there were only work camps.

As the speeder pulled up to the tomb Char’yal could sense that just inside there was an organized group of tomb raiders. That she would kill them was unfortunate, but an understood part of what it meant to prove herself as worthy of becoming a Sith. The training blades felt overly light in her hand, and facing down dozens of men armed with blasters with functionally nothing more than two sticks momentarily felt very silly.

A warning shot brushed just over her shoulder as one of the tomb raiders shouted at her. For a split second she could see his life flash before her eyes, a single choice years ago to steal a vase from the home of a minor Sith lord the defining one in his life that had led to this point. He’d never had a chance to be another other than a minor criminal. He was dead a second later, lanced through with one of the practiced swords in a swift strike, her foot connecting with his chest to kick his body backwards to the sands.

It wasn’t the first time she’d killed somebody, but seeing glimpses into peoples’ lives was always an intense experience – especially seeing their deaths before they happened. Shouts echoed from inside the tomb as their scout didn’t return and Char’yal relaxed her mind and let years of combat training kick in. Every move she needed to make she saw the instant before she had to act; each death a sensory flare of memories. By the time she’d killed a dozen of the raiders, a narrative had started to come together. The final choice of deadman after deadman being to take what was promised to be an easy job raiding an archeological site only to have their minds warped by the dark side.

The artifacts they had once greedily sought were still sitting in plain sight, untouched. For a mind unused to the dark side it would only have taken moments for the ancient darkside curse to have driven them insane. It was almost a mercy to end their tormented suffering – but there would inevitably be others. The lure of Sith relics was too strong for the tomb to remain free from tomb robbers for long. The Overseers counted on it. The occasional raider who managed to make off with a relic was insignificant compared to the benefit of having a steady supply of ambushers for apprentices to fight off.

The raiders thinned out the deeper into the tomb Char’yal ventured until only broken down droids littered the floor her footsteps echoing against the stone walls as she searched for the weapons store room. Many of the traps had long ago been triggered, the occasional gruesome sight of impaled skeletons, or charred bodies hit by lightning traps, the only signs that anybody had ever been this far into the tomb. It was hard to tell what was real and what was staged Sith Dramatics; certainly after more than a thousand years the tomb had been completely explored and all the real artifacts preserved, anything still left replaced by the overseers as ‘tests’ for the acolytes to complete.

After peering through dozens of rooms, each seemingly depicting another horrible fate awaiting any appreciate stupid enough to trigger a trap, Char’yal spotted what she’d been sent for, a sword laying across an altar, perfectly preserved.


	3. Everybody was out to get everybody, that was simply the way of the Sith.

Char’yal glanced around the room, searching for some clue as to what the trap could be and finding nothing obvious. Each step she took slowly, making sure she didn’t trigger some sort of pressure plate and find herself poisoned, or hit with force lightning. The only other things in the room beyond the sword were scrapped droids lining the walls, nearly two dozen of them, a sign of a once formidable battle droid army.

Nothing happened as she grabbed the sword from the altar even after a long pause where Char’yal waited and listened for any sounds that might give away an impending attack. There was no way it could be this easy, could it? Maybe the test had simply been the tomb raiders. Tremel’s goal was to make sure she was promoted out of the academy and a proper Sith Apprentice as soon as possible after all.

Swinging the blade several times to test its weight Char’yal allowed a rare smile to brush across her face. It wasn’t a lightsaber, but it crackled along the edge with force energy; and more than that it radiated a dark energy. It was a powerful weapon in its own right, capable of blocking a lightsaber strike. Exactly the type of weapon that would make any other apprentice think twice about mistaking her for an easy target.

Before she’d managed to take more than a dozen steps away for the altar, the room suddenly filled with the clattering of battledroids awakening out of idle mode, and Char’yal only just managed to raise her sword in time to reflect the first round of blaster bolts that sizzled in her direction. Fighting droids was her weakness, force sensitivity to others’ memories no help against unthinking, unfeeling machines.

Using a defensive form, Char’yal focused on reflecting the blaster bolts, droid after droid slowly falling to their own blaster shots until there were none left functional. An inefficient way to have fought the droids, but an effective enough solution. There were other voices in the tomb now, the echoes of other acolytes sent to find their own artifacts – and perhaps of more tomb raiders lured by the promise of easy wealth. Whoever they were, they were of no concern to her. Keeping her weapon out, Char’yal retraced her steps towards the entrance; reaching her speeder just as another group of acolytes arrived.

“Why do we have to get this former Sith Lord’s blessing again?”

“I dunno, it’s probably just Harkun trying to off a few of us to make it easier for Ffon.”

“Maybe we should all go in separately. He might make us kill one other to get his blessing.”

The three acolytes glanced briefly at her and continued talking among themselves, bickering about the best way to approach their own trial no doubt. Ffon must be one of the other chosen apprentices, the thought hadn’t particularly occurred to her that their might be others like her, other acolytes that had been preselected to become apprentices and for whom the trials were simply a formality.

Her speeder bike was mercifully untouched, now just one in a row of red painted speeders. A medical droid was there now too, keeping watch on the situation. It didn’t acknowledge her presence as she passed by, and almost too late Char’yal realized the droid was a decoy and a trap, and only just managed to keep from getting her arm cut off with a circular saw attached to the droid’s arm. It didn’t move to pursue her, simply returned to standing idle.

At least the ride back to the academy gave her a precious few minutes to think. 

Everything on Korriban seemed to be a trap but perhaps that was the point of it all. Being a Sith Lord would mean a life time of evading the traps of others, of laying traps, of countering traps, of knowing that one misstep in Sith politics could easily be your own death. It wasn’t personal, any more than the false medical droid had been – everybody was out to get everybody, that was simply the way of the Sith.

But, something about that mentality felt much too nihilistic to be the only way. What the alternative was, Char’yal wasn’t sure yet, only that she intended to find one.


	4. “Stay out of my way, if you don’t, you won’t live to regret it!”

Now that the sun was up, the academy was bustling hub of activity. There were easily a hundred people gathered around the outer steps. Most seemed to be acolytes, scurrying furtively about their business and trying to avoid the eye of any of the proper Sith Lords milling about least they be asked to run some pointless errand. Any Sith could give an acolyte orders, and no doubt more than one Sith Lord had found great sport in assigning impossible tasks with cruel punishment to any acolyte who looked at them wrong.

There were a handful of merchants too, most of them flanked by heavily armed droids and selling trinkets to acolytes, mementos of the academy, stim packs, copies of the Sith Code, the type of trinkets Char’yal would have attributed more to Jawas then proper merchants.

She passed up the stairs and into the academy almost unnoticed, two of the Imperial Guard standing outside the entrance turning towards her slightly, no doubt checking that she was force sensitive before allowing her to pass. Inside the academy was much quieter only Sith and acolytes were allowed inside (at least unescorted) and almost everybody was busy with the day’s work, the few acolytes she saw seemed busy with studying or running errands for their overseers.

It wasn’t until Char’yal had passed into the back hallways of the academy that she noticed she was being followed. It was much more obvious now. Three people traveling together didn’t stick out in the main area, but in the back passageways their footsteps echoed ominously. She turned, and waiting, letting them catch up to her around a corner.

“Is there something you want?” The simplicity of the question seemed to catch the three men off guard and two of them looked towards their leader in the center who was staring at her with narrowed eyes.

He puffed his chest out before answering, “Just to let you know that you’ve made a big mistake in trying to take my spot as an apprentice. Darth Baras already knows my name, and I’m going to make sure no upstart like you interferes with the rise of Vemrin!” The two lackeys nodded at his self-aggrandizement. “Stay out of my way, if you don’t, you won’t live to regret it!”

Char’yal didn’t say anything, but kept one hand on her weapon and waited for him to make the next move. Her lack of reaction perplexed Vermin even farther and he deflated slightly before shoving past her in the direction of Tremel’s office, two goons in tow.

She followed after letting a few minutes pass, but there was no sign of Vemrin by the time she passed through the bioscanner into Tremel’s office. Wordlessly she held up the sword to him and Tremel nodded slowly, a smile lighting up his face.

“I know you’d return, in record time too. I’m still waiting on a transport bringing in supplies to land before you can move on to your next trial. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon to acclimate to the academy? Your next trial will be ready in the inquisitorial wing after the evening meal. I’ll let the guards know you have permission to access the training rooms on the upper floors if you want to practice sparring, and Char’yal, you may want to get in all the practice you can.”

Another silent nod at his instructions as she turned and left.

Taking his advice to visit the upstairs training rooms seemed the best course of action. Finding her assigned living space would almost certainly mean having to interact with at least one of her three roommates – something she was trying to avoid for as long as possible. Talking to people could be exhausting, in unguarded moments it was a steady flood of memories, a sense of everything that had lead a person up to that particular moment.

The strong emotions of the academy required extra effort to block out. Strange that she hadn’t picked up anything from Vermin, perhaps he’d been shielding his emotions for her. It was always a small relief to meet Sith who were strong enough in the force to conceal their emotions.

There was nobody in the combat practice room, only a handful of droids spaced out, and two more Imperial Guards dressed in all red at the entrance. Half way through configuring one of the combat droids, two bulky acolytes entered and vaguely seemed to be trying to set up an ambush at the entrance to the room before giving up and instead lurking menacingly in the center of the room.

“Darth Scotia said she’d be here soon, and that all we gotta do is kill her and then we can both get off Korriban as apprentices.”


	5. “Sith aren’t honorable!”

Char’yal waited and watched the two men as they lurked in wait, part of it idle curiosity, part of it that they didn’t seemed to have noticed she was there. Altering them to the fact that they’d been monologuing about their plan to a witness didn’t feel like the wisest choice of action at the moment. They were both stupid, something she didn’t need a force sixth sense to determine. The type of thug that one would expect to encounter as a minor gang leader on Nar Shaddaa; brutish with just enough survival instinct to have made it this long in the academy, but no sense for what it would take to ever be more than a minor Sith at best.

Their information about when whoever they were supposedly ambushing was supposed to show seemed to have been shoddy at best. A long hour past where nobody appeared, the two growing restless and jumping at every sound of footsteps in the corridor before there was a rustle of armor as the Imperial Guardman allowed a fourth person in the room.

“I believe Overseer Harken reserved this room for me,” there was an impetuous hint of command in the new woman’s voice as she eyed the two acolytes standing in the middle of the room. “I’ve been given special permission by Lord Zash—“

She was cut off as both acolytes drew their practice swords menacingly. “So you’re Zash’s new pet. Unfortunately for you that means we have to kill you now. Darth Scotia sent us to make sure that Zash’s plans are foiled before they can even begin.”

One of the thugs moved in something that was a very crude imitation of a flanking maneuver, yelping and growling as the now cornered woman sent a lash of force lightning at his leg, it wasn’t enough to stop him however and they both brought up their practice swords in sloppy defensive forms warding off her trying that again.

“Let’s make this a fair fight shall we?” All three of them turned to look as Char’yal spoke, drawing her sword and flourishing it with a confidence practiced ease. There was something that just felt wasteful about letting the two thugs get away with murder. They could barely hold their weapons correctly even after ostensibly spending months on Korriban. The idea of the class of Sith advancing beyond the academy repulsed Char’yal enough for her to intervene.

One of them peeled off, the other still glaring at the cornered woman and brandishing his weapon threateningly. “You made a big mistake messing with us. We’ll just have to kill you as well—“ but before he could finish the threat, Char’yal had dashed forward, catching him under his sword arm with an upwards slash and finishing with a roundhouse kick the knee that sent him crashing towards the ground with a shriek of agony as his shoulder dislocated. Had the hit been made with a properly sharpened blade instead of a practice electrosword it would have severed the arm in a clean slice.

The other thug stared at his friend for a moment and the cornered woman took advantage of his distraction to hit him with a focused bolt of force energy to the chest that knocked him a solid nine feet back and dazed him. Char’yal struck him in the base of the skull with the flat part of her blade and he crumpled in a heap on the floor unconscious.

“Nice place the Sith Academy isn’t it?” Snorting at the irony she kicked the still screaming thug several times until he lost consciousness. “I’m Ynnara, future apprentice to Lord Zash. Now, who do I have to thank for assisting me in dealing with this,” she paused for a moment trying to come up with a suitable insult, “pile of future beast food.”

“Char’yal.”

Ynnara glanced over at the impassive Imperial guard standing watch, then out the door, then back to Char’yal before lowering her voice, “Why help me? That’s the type of thing that gets you killed here.”

“Because it was the honorable thing to do.”

“Sith aren’t honorable,” Ynnara laughed at the thought, but the villainous cackle was half-hearted at best. “Everybody here would stab everybody else in the back given the chance. The Sith Code—“

Char’yal held up a hand for silence as footsteps echoed down the hallway towards them, the sound of every Imperial Guard along the route hitting the ground with their honor guard pikes a giveaway that whoever was coming was Dark Council. “Quick, through that side door.”


	6. “We need a new plan and fast!”

The door led to a maintenance elevator, barely big enough for the two of them to squish together inside. There were only three buttons, the center one lit with a dim red glow indicating that was the floor they were on. Char’yal’s rough mental map of the academy put them just above the inquisitorial wing, the ground floor exit almost certainly going to put them somewhere they had no business being. Not that up was any better. The third floor was reserved for Major Sith Lords and Dark Council members; but was almost certainly going to let them out unseen.

Gambling that the possibility of getting caught on the third floor was better than the certainty of getting caught on the ground floor Char’yal pushed the button, and the elevator creaked to life, slowly inching upwards before shuddering to a halt in between floors, mechanisms whirring and groaning before stopping completely.

Char’yal craned her neck to glance up at the ceiling of the elevator car, noticing the blue shimmer of a force field against the roof. “We’ve stopped at a force field. We can just wait here and head back down to the practice room after the dark council members are gone. I didn’t want to risk them deciding that we were at fault for the attack. Tradition dictates that as long as there aren’t witnesses nobody looks too closely at any attacks.”

That was more of explanation than Char’yal would have normally given, most people could come to the same sort of conclusions given the same amount of time and didn’t need the obvious stated to them, but there was fear in Ynnara’s eyes that needed addressing. “We’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about us getting caught.” The same touch of near arrogant confidence was back in Ynnara’s voice and for a split second Char’yal wondered if she had misjudged the reason for Ynnara’s worry. “I just don’t like enclosed spaces.”

An uneasy silence fell between them as the seconds slowly ticked by. Char’yal wasn’t sure how long they should wait before returning to the practice room. The longer they waited, the better off they would be, but the elevator was clearly designed for moving droids between floors and not for people. They were pressed very uncomfortably close together, and Ynnara kept shifting and trying to find the most breathing room to keep herself stable.

“It would help if you would talk,” Ynnara shifted again while speaking, elbow against Char’yal’s shoulder. “About anything, it doesn’t have to be personal, but you’re stuck with me until we get off this damn elevator so you might as well make something like conversation with me.”

“Do you know the story of Darth Shocksphere?”

“Who?”

“Darth Shocksphere. From the painting that overlooks the corridor that leads towards the inquisitorial wing. I’ve never heard of him before and was curious if you had.”

Ynnara considered for a moment, “I’ve read plenty of Sith history books and I can’t recall any Darths by that name. Do you remember what the plaque under the painting said his accomplishments were?”

“I believe he was a great battle historian, rumored to have recorded multiple epic sagas about the downfall of several Sith political dynasties—“ Char’yal was interrupted by a guffaw of laughter from Ynnara.

“You mean the trashy holonovel writer who probably never existed?” Ynnara shook her head and grinned, “Rrrarruo and Mara’juli’eth? About the Wookie and the Chiss? And you have to have heard of M’beth the Mandalorian warrior.”

Char’yal stared blankly, “I didn’t do much reading growing up. Holonet access on Tatooine has always been terrible. Czerka Company only made it worse.”

“Oh,” Ynnara “Well you’ll have to—“ the elevator shuddered to life, moving upwards even as Char’yal dove to hit the down button to take them back to the second floor, the force field above them flickered away.

A voice echoed down the elevator shaft growing louder as they moved agonizingly slowly upwards towards the third floor “Now Baras, I know that you’ve had your eye on Ffon ever since you saw him,” Ynnara stiffed and mouthed something that Char’yal couldn’t see or hear. “but you know the rules about poaching apprentices from each other! You’ll just have to make do with that Vermin character. He’s,” the woman speaking paused, voice dripping with sarcasm, “certainly vicious enough. Bit dull if you ask me.”

“You’d do well to mind your tone /Lord/ Zash,” this voice was gravely and clearly altered by a mask of some sort. “You’re not on the Dark Council yet. In fact I’d murder you were you stood if you weren’t about to do me a favor with your plans for Darth Scotia.”

“My dear Baras, I had no idea what you could ever be talking about with Scotia! Everybody knows of his extensive—“ the woman was cut off as the elevator dinged. Char’yal, frantically extended her hands up to hold the door closed with the force, and Ynnara caught on a second later and added her power.

“Damned elevator,” the man mattered, “probably a droid arm stuck in the door again. Those slaves on cleanup duty need to be taught a lesson.”

“Oh Baras, you shouldn’t let something so small as a stuck door stand in your way,” the woman’s voice dripped with the same dry sarcasm as before. “Whatever is a dark council member to do in a situation like this?”

The whole elevator shuddered as Baras hit the car with a powerful blast of force energy that nearly knocked it loose from its tracks, “Do not question me Zash!”

“We’ll never hold this door if he tries to open it,” Ynnara hissed voice the softest whisper she could manage, “we need a new plan and fast!”

 


	7. "Already you’ve taken to heart the Sith Code."

 “Quick, kiss me!” The thought came to Char’yal in a flash of insight. “They may overlook us being here if they think we were simply distracted by passion and didn’t realize where the elevator went.”

 The door edged open slightly as Ynnara realized that Char’yal’s suggestion was the only way to avoid the very real possibility of being stabbed to death with a lightsaber. There was a moment of awkward shuffling in the tiny elevator where Ynnara’s lips ended up on Char’yal’s neck due to the height difference and it wasn’t exactly a kiss so much as an awkward tangle of trying to make it look like one.

It was undoubtedly the awkwardness that ended up saving them, that and sheer luck that it was Zash who spotted them first. Zash cackled with laughter at the completely ridiculous scene in contrast to Baras whose hand had immediately gone to his lightsaber as soon as he’d seen there were actual people in the elevator. “Now Acolyte,” Zash’s tone was a cross between mocking and actual mirth, “You need to—“

Baras interrupted before Zash could finish, voice icy, although not without the smallest hint of amusement at the situation. “Lord Zash and I are not unforgiving of incidents like this. You, acolyte,” he pointed at Char’yal, “You will follow me now. If you have free time to waste, you’re not being worked hard enough. I have an additional task for you.”

Zash rolled her eyes at Baras who stalked off down the hall, barely giving Char’yal a moment to disentangle herself, and no time to say anything to Ynnara, before she had to sprint off after Baras, who seemed to be moving with force enhanced unnatural speed.

Which left Ynnara alone with Zash, “You’ll do well acolyte, barely off the transport and already you’ve taken to heart the Sith Code,” Zash’s eyes were steely even though her voice was light and conversational. “I hope you manage to find a way to thwart Ffon, I’d much prefer somebody like you as my apprentice.” Zash pushed the down button on the elevator, winking at Ynnara as the doors closed on her, “Inquisitor Arzanon is waiting for you on the ground floor.”

\--

Sprinting to keep up with Baras, Char’yal was glad for a lifetime of training. She kept pace with the Dark Lord even as it became clear to her that his goal was to wear her down before presenting his task. Eventually, after making several circuitous routes around the upper level – past the same strikingly hideous picture of a Sith Lord with a metal jaw super imposed over an exploding planet, a crude depiction of an enslaved Jedi woman in the background – they entered Baras's office.

He didn’t sit, simply turned and stared at her for a long moment. “I’ve been grooming Vemrin for him ascension to my apprentice for months. That Tremel would defy me by bringing in an upstart is intolerable.” Baras paced the floor, masked eyes never leaving her. “I agree with him that you are more powerful then Vemrin and,” there was a hint of distate in his voice as he added, “Lord Zash is correct that your fellow apprentice is a fool. His attempt to frighten you instead of simply killing you, and his alliance with Ffon are both troubling.”

“You will submit to a loyalty test. If you pass, I will consider you for my apprentice. If you fail, you will die.” Baras turned his back to her, staring at his own painting, which seemed to have been commissioned years ago and was exaggeratedly muscular. “You will complete Overseer’s Tremel’s task to assist in interrogating several prisoners. When you report back to him, you will kill him and bring me proof of his death.”

Char’yal said nothing while Baras contemplated his likeness. It was almost certainly a suicidal task, but this wasn’t the first time she’d been assigned something seemingly impossible and succeeded. She had a destiny that didn’t end here; and that single guiding thought was a source of calm assurance that a solution would present itself.

“Go.” Baras barked after a long moment, not turning around as she left and headed back towards the elevator, passing several honor guards who watched her silently but having seen her with Baras earlier made no move to stop her as she made her way back downstairs and into the inquisitorial wing.

 


End file.
